4: High Wind Warning

The wind woke me at 1am. Not a gentle rocking conducive to sleep but an infrequent jarring that triggered alert. By three am, tired of being tossed by Rapport tugging on her mooring, I turned on a light and worked. Kent was reading. Coffee was brewed. My anxiety brewed but I envisioned that sunrise would bring a dead calm, and a safe passage to a more protected harbor. 
 
When we checked in with the harbormaster earlier that day, he said they had begun hauling docks because the intensity of the waves do so much damage at this time in the season. I didn’t take this for what it perhaps was: a warning. He had also said, “the resort is closed.” Not realizing that all the buildings around us comprised only a resort and not a small fishing village, I responded, “and the store is closed too?” “Closed means closed,” he said. Now, as the boat swung on the mooring line and heeled and I was dumped to the other side of the berth, I realized this was not a safe harbor. This was exposure. I thought of waves crashing over the docks and gangways behind us. 
 
​Excerpt from essay: Tides of Hope
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